


Gotham Dark Roast

by nightsstarr



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Batfam doesn't really exist in this sorry, Coffeeshop AU, Dick and Kory still met and had a baby though, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightsstarr/pseuds/nightsstarr
Summary: My take on the (in)famous coffee shop AU. Mary Grayson is a barista at a locally owned coffee shop. She comes to Robin's aid one night when he crash-lands outside the shop, sparking a strange relationship between the two of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this particular alternate universe setting that I've concocted for this story, Damian is the only Robin that ever was. Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, and Cass don't exist. Or rather, they exist, but only as they would have if Bruce never "adopted" them. Maybe I'll introduce them later, but I don't know how far I'm going to be going with this. So everything is as much the same to canon as it can be if Dick and Kory still somehow hooked up and had Mar'i and the Batfam is just Bruce, Alfred and Damian.

Mary hummed to herself as she replaced the stack of paper cups for the next morning. She’d pulled a long shift, but the shop was ready to close. Breathing in the smell of coffee, she hung her apron on a hook and grabbed her purse from the floor, jingling the pair of keys her boss gave her so she could close the shop.

She stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, the Gotham air full of car fumes and cigarette smoke chasing the coffee scent out of her nostrils.

Before she could slide the key into the lock, a huge thud from the bordering alley startled her. Expertly threading the keys between her knuckles to use as an impromptu weapon, she carefully peeked her head around the brick.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, almost dropping the keys.

It was a legend, she’d always thought, nothing more—but the teenager lying over a dented tin trash can in a cape ripped to shreds and decorated with bruises was here, right in front of her.

He groaned, a deep, pained sound. Mary bit her lip, half-tempted to walk away like she never saw anything happen. But what would happen to him? If he was being chased, it wouldn’t be good.

Her boots clacked over the pavement, the keys clenched in her fist digging into her palm. “Robin?” she called, crouching near his face. “Are you… alive?”

Another groan was her answer. He was a big guy—taller than her and one and a half times her width, all lean muscles and Kevlar padding—but she carefully dragged him into the coffee shop, trying to be mindful of his head and neck.

She grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, but it wasn’t meant for anything so heavy duty. Band-aids and gauze pads seemed futile, so she settled for dabbing at his wounded face with antiseptic. He seemed delirious, occasionally groaning but otherwise unresponsive.

She cleaned his face up as best she could, but there was a gash that traveled to the ripped corner of his green domino mask.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” she assured him as she slid her finger under his mask at his uninjured eye. “I wouldn’t know who you were, anyway.” Gently, she started to tug at the thick material of his mask—

She flinched as a strong grip wrapped around her wrist and pulled her down so that her eyes were uncomfortably close to the mask.

“Who are you?” Robin growled, his voice lightly but unidentifiably accented.

“I—I’m trying to help you—my name is Mary Grayson and I—”

“Do not touch me,” he growled. Stubbornly, he pushed himself so that he was sitting, pulling on Mary’s wrist to aid the process.

“You’re—hurting me,” she gasped, trying to unwind his fingers from around her hand.

“I require water,” he told her, ignoring her whimpering. “Nothing else.”

She nodded, whirling as he released her hand. Her fingers shook as she filled one of the freshly-replaced paper cups.

Water spilled over her feet as she dropped the cup in surprise. He'd vanished, she realized as she turned. How he managed it, she couldn’t guess, but he was simply gone.

“W-wait!” Mary shouted as she threw open the side door, bells jangling above her head. “You’re hurt! I—” She let her voice trail off.

There’s no way any of that was real. She rushed to right the trash cans, banging out the dents and stuffing stray pieces of garbage back in. With the alley cleaned up, she could pretend it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t until she woke up the next morning that she realized that a ring of five small bruises braceleted her wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary sighed as she said took her umbrella off the hook. She shoved her sneakers into her purse and pulled on the rainboots she’d brought specifically because she knew it would be raining when she left.

Her dad was at work, otherwise he’d meet her and walk her home the way he liked to when she worked late. Shouting a quick goodbye to her boss, she fished in her purse for her phone to text her dad that she was leaving the way he made her promise she would. She’d have to remember to text him when she got home, too, or else he’d flip out.

Pulling the hood up on her waterproof jacket, she bowed her head against the rain and stepped outside.

Rainwater had gathered in the worn parts of the sidewalk, her foot disappearing past the sole of her boot into a puddle that reflected the black sky and the streetlights overhead.

The apartment she lived in with her father was nestled between a dance studio and a Chinese food place, and the walk wasn’t that long from the tiny coffee shop where she worked.

There were, however, a lot of shops, and therefore a lot of small alleys where they kept their trash bins and where the apartments above the shops kept dumpsters. That kind of thing was dangerous for a teenage girl on her own.

Her dad’s solution was to make sure she had a bottle of pepper spray on hand at all times, as well as base-level self defense classes. He was a paranoid cop, so she figured that she was lucky he let her leave the apartment after dark even with those stipulations.

She wasn’t more than two blocks away from the entrance to her apartment when she felt the umbrella receive a sharp tug from behind her.

Annoyed, Mary turned to tug the umbrella with both hands, but she found herself facing a group of five boys from her old high school.

“Let go, Will,” she commanded quietly, addressing the leader of the group who had the edge of her umbrella in his grip. Rain dripped off the edge of his hood, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Calm down, Grayson. I just wanna talk.”

One of the other boys snickered at that, and he was elbowed into silence. Will grinned over his shoulder at them, pleased to be so amusing.

“I’m kind of in a rush. My dad’s waiting for me at home,” she lied easily. Rain had begun dripping off her own hood without the cover of her umbrella, and her bangs were starting to get get wet where they peeked out.

“No big deal. I was just wondering if you wanted to get a bite to eat with me.”

“No, I don't. And I really don't have the time,” she snapped, yanking at her umbrella. He was obviously asking to show off in front of his friends. “I have class in the morning, unlike you lowlifes.”

Will narrowed his eyes at her. “Yeah? Then I bet you could probably afford a new umbrella.” With an effortless jerk of his arm, he ripped the handle out of her arms and swung the end of it at the brick wall of the alley beside him, audibly bending the metal pieces. “Oops. Want it back?”

“You done now?” Mary sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She used the action as an excuse to wrap her fingers around the small spray bottle inside, hoping he wouldn’t see.

If only she could be that lucky.

“Whadda ya got in there, Grayson?”

This was stupid. Will had been a bully in high school, but she didn’t really have him pegged as the kind of guy that would steal her purse. He was probably pissed that she wasn’t scared of him.

“Jim, grab her purse,” Will directed, tipping his head at one of the taller boys in his gang.

Jim hesitated. “I dunno.”

“We’ll just see what’s inside and give it back. What were you looking for in there, Grayson?”

Will tired waiting for Jim, and he grabbed one of the handles on her purse.

“Knock it off, Will!” She tried to keep her shouting under control. If she was too loud, she might attract attention from people passing by, which might help her now but it would only piss Will off, and next time he found her it would be worse.

“Jim, shut her up,” Will growled, and this time Jim took a step toward her.

There was a splash from further back in the alley, making the boys turn guiltily.

Mary took the opportunity to pull the pepper spray out. Alerted by the movement, Will whirled to face her and she sprayed, making him shout and slap his hand over his eyes.

Jim pushed her against the wall, squeezing her arms roughly. “What did you do, you dumb bitch?”

The pepper spray couldn’t help her now—Will’s grip was too tight on her arms, and as he pushed her into the brick he locked her elbows in place.

Jim lurched back, pulling her with him until his hand was pulled from her.

“No way,” she breathed to herself.

The rest of Will’s gang was either running out of the alley or scrambling through puddles to their feet in an attempt to run out of the alley. Jim’s arm was being twisted behind his back while he whimpered, the caped figure holding him only a silhouette visible in through the rain. He shoved Jim in the back toward the exit of the alley, and he wasted no time in retreating.

Robin approached her and Mary shrank against the brick in spite of herself.

“What did you do to that one?”

“He—he was trying to take my purse so I—I have pepper spray and I—”

“The effect is temporary, then.” Robin approached Will where he was cowering in a corner, holding his eyes and groaning.

Robin lifted him by his collar. “Return to your home and flush your eyes with water,” he instructed, his voice cool and sharp, like the blade of a knife. “A stinging sensation will linger, but you will be perfectly healthy, if sore, in a matter of hours.”

Will sniffed in reply, whining pitifully under the vigilante’s grasp.

“Get out of here,” Robin said icily, a sneer in his voice, and he pushed the half-blinded boy in the direction of the street.

It was just the two of them left. Rain slapped down from the gutters of the buildings that made up the alley, and drops fell in loud patters against the street.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice strange to her own ears.

“No need for that,” Robin said as he approached her. “You are uninjured, correct?”

“Yeah. I don’t think they were going to hurt me, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised,” he remarked dryly.

It was quiet except for the rain until Mary said, “I almost didn’t think it was real, what happened last week. You remember, right? You fell next to the coffee place where I work. But then I woke up and I had bruises on my wrist—” She held up her right hand and squinted. The marks had turned green and faded, the only reminder she had left of his presence gone.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, and she was startled to find that he was directly in front of her. “You should not have tried to look under my mask, however.”

“I—” she stammered, suddenly nervous. “—was trying to help—”

“Be that as it may, there are limits as to what someone like you can do for someone like me.”

“Oh,” she said lamely.

With a flourish of his cape, he moved toward the street. “It is still dark and you are alone,” he said matter-of-factly. “I will follow you to your residence, if you like.”

They were close to her apartment now and it probably wasn’t necessary, but she said, “I appreciate it.”

He gave a slight nod of his hooded head, and from his utility belt he drew a gun-shaped device. Mary winced as he shot it, but to her surprised instead of a gunshot, the hissing sound of compressed air was released from the device, and grappling hook embedded itself in the brick above them. He disappeared, having been pulled into the rooftops by the jump line. It was too dark to see where he went, and maybe he left without finding it necessary to follow her home.

Without her umbrella, rain soaked her jeans and rain in rivulets down her waterproof coat, creating a curtain of water over her eyes and thoroughly soaking her hair.

She stopped in front of the entrance to her apartment, resisting the urge to look around at the rooftops above her.

A heavy, metallic thud made her jump. Embedded into the mortar between pieces of brick beside her was a disc, vaguely bat-shaped, and now she allowed herself to squint at the rooftops across from her.

It was too dark to see anything, but she swore she could make out a flash of yellow among the blackness.

She attempted to pull the disc from the wall, but it was sunk deep into the mortar and she found that she needed to put her foot on the brick to act as leverage. She finally succeeded in pulling it out, falling on the damp sidewalk for her effort.

She texted her father as she made her way up the stairs to their fourth-floor apartment, telling him she’d arrived home with no incident.

She peeled off her wet clothes and wrapped herself in a towel to fill the bath with warm water. Clutching the bat-disc, she sank beneath a layer of bubbles and stared at it.

The idea of Batman and Robin was ridiculous, people who dressed up in costumes and fought for justice. But she met Robin, not once but twice, now.

It was decidedly a comfort, the presence of the masked vigilantes. She couldn’t think anything else, not since Robin had just helped her. She knew there were people who were afraid of them, who claimed that they were dangerous, but she felt safe when she thought about the boy in the cape. Pulling her wrist above the layer of bubbles, she squinted at it. The ring of bruises was gone, but she couldn’t forget about it.

What kind of people were they? Did Batman and Robin live in an apartment like her? Did Robin go to school? Did Batman have a job? Maybe they were inmates at Arkham who escaped every night.

At eleven thirty, the front door swung open and she pulled the disc under a layer of bubbles that hadn’t dissolved yet. She couldn’t obsess over Batman and Robin, she decided as she spoke to her dad through the door. They didn’t risk their lives every night so people could obsess about their identities.

Still, it would be nice to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a drabble request from tumblr, so it's really short in length. I did go back and add more, but it's pretty short. Slowly moving the plot forward.

Damian swiped his fingers millimeters above the glass screen of his tablet, pretending to read.

The table he’d chosen was nestled in the corner of the shop, far from the counter with several tables in between, but the view to the barista’s niche behind the register was clear without being too obvious.

Mary whirled from one of the many machines–-Damian didn’t know what that one in particular did, he hardly even liked coffee–-holding the cup expertly without spilling any, fitting a clear domed lid over the thick paper. The patron accepted the cup and folded a receipt into their jacket pocket before heading toward the door.

Mary wiped her hand on her apron, her expression serene but momentarily lacking the smile she wore for interactions with customers. She tucked a thick mass of hair behind her ear habitually and looked out at the rest of the shop.

Damian had been so distracted that he allowed his gaze to linger on her for too long, and when she looked up their eyes met briefly. The eye contact shocked him as much as any bodily contact would have, and he hurriedly ducked his head to stare intently at his tablet and fight the heat that rose to his face.

This was precisely why he shouldn’t be here, among the obvious risk to his secret identity. He hadn’t even mustered up the courage to order a drink.

Still, he couldn't get this girl out of his head. She wasn't any different from any other civilian, yet the image of her face, wide-eyed and frightened and also somehow inquisitive, had been flashing across his mind for days now. 

Coming to her rescue was a mistake. He shouldn't have been following her that night. It had become part of his patrol schedule to pass by the coffee shop at 11:00 when it closed and watch her make her way home safely. He hadn't updated his father about this, and he never logged this extra activity in his written reports his father expected from him every night. He had even gone so far as to turn his GPS off for the twenty minutes or so that he spent with her from the rooftops.

His father, so far, was none the wiser, but he certainly wouldn't approve of this behavior. Damian didn't approve of it, himself. Yet, he couldn't help but indulge himself this one curiosity.

His phone vibrated and he pounced on it, eager to seem casual in case Mary was still watching. It was Colin announcing his proximity–he should be sitting at the table across from Damian in five minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Freeze? Scarecrow? The Joker? No problem. Attractive teenage girls? Terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the previous chapter.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Colin said, eyebrows raised in quiet disbelief as he leaned back in the wooden cafe chair and unzipped his hoodie. “You’ve been here for how long and you haven’t ordered a drink yet?”

“Sh!” Damian hissed, glancing around the small shop as though his presence had been a secret until now. “I was waiting for you,” he sulked at his best friend, glowering at the table moodily.

“I got held up with Nell, sorry,” Colin said unapologetically with a lift of his shoulders.

“Yes, well.” Damian glanced over Colin’s shoulder at the barista counter, where Mary was swiping her finger over the change niche in the register to hand a customer some quarters.

“So what’re you gonna say to her?”

Damian flicked his gaze to Colin, frowning worriedly. “I–was just going to order a drink,” he admitted, confused. “What more is there to converse about?”

“I dunno. If I was you, I’d say something like, ‘Hi, I’m Damian Wayne. Yeah, that Damian Wayne. I’ve been borderline stalking you for three weeks–’”

“And if I were you I’d at least have the decency to use proper grammar.” Damian paused before adding, “It’s not stalking. She was apprehended two weeks ago. I’ve been following up.”

“Weird coincidence that we’re here now, then.” Colin waited for Damian to rebut, and upon receiving no answer, he leaned on the small table and pushed his chair back, standing decidedly.

“Where are you going?” Damian hissed, clutching the table nervously.

Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

“Wait–-Colin–”

Ignoring his friend, the redhead approached the register with his hands in his pockets, scanning the wooden board hung on the wall behind the register listing the kinds of drinks and pastry the shop carried.

“Hi!” Mary–-he knew her name by now without needing to read her nametag–-chirped. “Find something you like?”

“Ah, I think–” Colin paused as Damian entered his peripheral vision. He looked incredibly nervous. “A hazelnut macchiato sounds good.”

“Sure!” After confirming a size, she whirled to the machines behind her to fill his order.

“You have no idea what any of this is, do you?” Colin asked quietly.

“I-–this is not coffee,” Damian mumbled, confused. His cheeks were tinged with red and he looked stiff and uncomfortable. “I don’t even know what a macchiato is.”

Taking pity on his friend, Colin nudged his shoulder and nodded at the left side of the long wooden plaque. “I think you can just get tea.”

Mary appeared at the counter with Colin’s neatly prepared macchiato. The checkered foam rose just above the rim of the burgundy mug.

She turned turned to Damian with a smile after handing Colin his change. “And for you?”

Damian clenched his teeth, and Colin took a careful sip of his macchiato to prepare himself for secondhand embarrassment.

“Earl Grey… Tea, that is. Please,” he fumbled to add, and he was blushing really obviously.

“Just tea?” Mary asked, smiling kindly. She probably got the idea that Damian wasn’t one for frequenting coffee shops.

“Please,” he repeated, nodding vigorously.

“Not much of a coffee guy, huh? That’s probably because you’ve never had a cup brewed by me!” She giggled companionably as she turned to the machines behind her.

“Calm down,” Colin advised, taking another sip of mostly foam and espresso. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

His friendly advice was returned with a sharp glare, as though Colin had somehow forced him to do this. When Mary returned, Damian managed to thank her and pay without making things worse.

“Happy now?” Colin asked, carefully setting his mug at their table.

“I am satisfied, yes.” Damian took a sip of his tea and set it down. “Not bad.”

“How are you satisfied? You barely said two words to her.” Colin pointed out, eyeing Damian suspiciously. “You didn’t, like, plant a tiny camera on her or something, right?”

“Of course not.” Damian frowned and sipped his tea.

“You have to at least tell her your name. Something. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s as you said. I cannot really introduce myself to her without being disingenuous–-we’ve already met twice before. This way, I won’t need to lie.”

“So–w-hat, that’s it? We come here every once in a while until your crush goes away.”

“I suppose,” he answered noncommittally. “You seem far more bothered by this than necessary.”

Colin sighed. “I should’ve known you’d take the fun out of this.”

Damian changed the subject and they talked amicably until their drinks were gone. There was a tray located near the counter meant for dirty cups, and as they passed, Colin stopped at the register, to Damian’s confusion.

“Can I help you?” Mary asked, and Colin could see that behind the counter she had what appeared to be math homework spread open.

“Yeah, sorry, this’ll just take a minute.” Reaching into his hoodie pocket, he pulled out the receipt for his macchiato and a pencil and scrawled on it before pushing the thin paper toward her.

She picked it up and looked at it, then frowned. “Is this your number?” she asked, her voice straining.

Damian realized what was happening and he latched onto Colin’s arms. “Wilkes,” he hissed, his tone deadly.

“Because I’m sorry,” Mary continued, “but I don’t–”

“No, sorry for the confusion. It’s not my number. It’s my friend’s.”

Her bright green eyes fixed onto Damian, and Colin could tell that she didn’t know what to think.

“See, we pass by this shop sometimes and he’s kind of got this huge crush on you. He talks about it all the time.” As he spoke, Colin’s words came faster and faster as he began having to fend off Damian’s subtle but painful twists of his arm.

“I am so sorry,” Damian said, his face deep red as he faced Mary. “Colin’s an idiot–-you can throw that away. In fact, you should. That was disrespectful and–”

Colin watched as she took in Damian’s reaction. She was flustered, but her lips curled into a small smile and she said, “So you don’t have a crush on me?”

Damian froze. It was amazing. Colin would pay for this in training sessions later, but right now he was enjoying himself immensely. “You-–I–-you–” Damian stammered, bewildered.

“I don’t normally take this kind of thing from customers,” she explained, growing more confident as Damian became more flustered. “It’s rude and it puts me on the spot and it’s really uncomfortable. But… I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Okay?”

“Please don’t… You don’t have to keep that number if you don’t wish to,” Damian managed.

“She knows, Damian,” Colin sighed. If he kept it up, she really wouldn’t text him. “That’s 'Damian’ with an 'A’, by the way,” he said to Mary, and he made texting motions with his thumbs as Damian shoved him much harder than was necessary.

She raised her eyebrows at him, but laughed good-naturedly.

“I’m very sorry,” Damian apologized again as he pushed Colin toward the door. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded when they’d walked a but away from the shop, shoving him again.

“She has your number now,” Colin pointed out gleefully. “That’s something, at least.”

“This was a horrible idea,” Damian groaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “It’s my fault for bringing you. I should have foreseen something like this happening.”

“Relax, would you?” Colin sighed. “It’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re well prepared for combat training this evening,” Damian growled in reply, sulking.


	5. Chapter 5

Damian gritted his teeth as his taped fists impacted the sturdy canvas bag, dozens of tiny impressions reflecting the dim lights of the Batcave oddly.

The sound of Colin’s feet on the treadmill and his rhythmic breathing filled the gaps between Damian’s punches as he gripped the bag and panted, adjusting his tape wrappings with his teeth as the tape started coming loose around his knuckles.

“Man,” Nell said, her voice overly cheerful as she stuck her landing against the mat beneath the uneven bars. “The two of you are quiet today. What’s with you guys?”

“Damian’s pissed at me,” Colin huffed without slowing the speed of the treadmill.

“I am not,” Damian snapped, pressing the tape in place with his thumb.

“Aren’t you always?” Nell sighed. “What for this time?”

Instead of answering, Damian returned to vigorously punching the bag, eyes trained on the dented canvas.

Having reached some personal goal, Colin slowed the treadmill to a more leisurely pace and smiled at Nell over his shoulder. “I gave his number to a girl.”

“Ohhhh! The coffee shop girl?”

“That’s the one,” Colin affirmed.

After a particularly hard punch that sent waves of pain down his wrist, Damian clutched at the bag, annoyed. “After arriving late, may I remind you, Colin went out of his way to embarrass me, not to mention be rude to Ma-– the barista.” he realized that his face was warm and attempted to position the punching bag between him and Nell.

“Were you rude?” Nell demanded, putting chalky hands on her hips.

Sliding off the treadmill before he’d allowed it to stop moving, a habit that annoyed Damian, Colin admitted, “Maybe a little forward, but not rude. Besides, he was planning on just sitting there and going back once in a while. That’s way weirder than giving her his number.”

“Even if it is 'weird',” Damian sulked, abandoning the bag to cross his arms, “I don’t see how giving her my number is less weird.”

“You didn’t ask for hers, right? If all you did was give her a number, she can decide whether or not she’s uncomfortable and she can either ignore you or do something about it on her own. As long as you don’t hound her, it should be okay. It really depends on her personality.”

“So do you think she’ll call?” Colin asked excitedly, clearly enjoying his attempt at matchmaking.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“It’s nearing midnight. She hasn’t made any attempt to contact me as yet, so I highly doubt–”

Damian was interrupted by the tones of his phone ringing to indicate a text.

He’d thrown his bag on the floor next to Colin’s and Nell’s, and he turned to it now, staring wide-eyed.

“It probably isn’t her,” he said stiffly.

“Go pick it up!” Nell urged, pushing him toward his red bag and getting chalk all over his back.

Obeying silently, he kneeled in front of his bag and rummaged among his things–a sweatshirt, his earpiece, a water bottle, his iPod–until he wrapped his fingers around his phone.

The number on his screen was an unknown one, with a Gotham area code. From the lock screen, he could read the beginning of a text: 'Damian, right? It’s Mary, from Gotham Dark Roast.'

“Is it her? Let me see.” Colin’s footsteps came up behind him and Damian quickly dimmed the screen.

“I’m leaving early,” he announced, sliding his phone into his bag and picking at the tape around his fingers.

“It was her!” Colin cheered.

Ignoring him, Damian shouldered his bag and made his way to the winding stone stairs that led to the grandfather clock.

…

Mary chewed her bottom lip as she stared at her phone screen, the LED backlighting on her screen making her eyes water after too many seconds of staring.

This whole thing was stupid. You weren’t supposed to take numbers from strange guys. Ever. Not even attractive guys who blush when they talk to you. That had been a rule since before Mary had gotten her first cell phone.

But…

He and his friend could have staged it, but he really seemed flustered when his friend gave her the number. The thin receipt with the numbers scrawled on it was at the edge of her bed now, and she’d double-checked the order of numbers countless times before sending the text and even more times since she sent it… which hadn’t even been five minutes ago.

She was just texting him. It wasn’t as though doing that sealed any kind of deal. She was just agreeing to talk.

Her phone vibrated and she pounced on it, swiping her thumb over the unlock button and typing in her four-digit passcode.

'Yes, you’ve texted the correct number. I’d like to apologize again for my friend. He gets overeager at times.'

The message was worded formally, and it made her wonder if he was nervous.

She twitched her thumbs over the keyboard, formulating what she was going to say.

'I don’t normally–-'

She deleted the line of text. Saying that might seem aggressive or accusatory. Biting her lip, she retyped what she’d erased.

'I don’t normally take numbers from guys I don’t know. Or anyone I don’t know, I guess. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, is my point, and I don’t know you well enough to even consider that. I don’t know what you’re expecting out of this, but if you want something other than friendly conversation, I’d like you to please delete my number.'

She read what she’d written over again. It was stupid to do this in the first place. A guy wouldn’t ask for a girl’s phone number if he just wanted to be friends. Then again, he wasn’t the one who asked.

This was confusing. She forced herself to press the send button before she could convince herself not to.

She tapped on the side of her phone, part nervous, part interested as to what he would say. Or if he would respond at all. He took almost ten minutes to answer, but the response he sent was worth waiting for.

'I admit this is a strange way to meet someone. Perhaps I should have simply begun a conversation in person. It’s what Colin urged me to do. I assure you that it is not my intention to force a romantic relationship when I hardly know you at all. And, of course, should you wish to stop communicating with me at any time, please feel free to do so. I sincerely wish to avoid making you uncomfortable.'

She gripped her phone, pleased. It was sort of obvious that he probably had a crush on her, and she’d expected him to be much more forward about it.

Her phone vibrated in her hands and she looked down at it.

'I hope you don’t have any objections to occasional visits to the shop.'

She smiled and hastened to send her response.


End file.
